The Men Who Did the Weather

May 14

Image of Secretary of Agriculture Howard Mason Gore (1877-1947) and Chief of the Weather Bureau Charles F. Marvin (1858-1943), circa 1924,

National Photo Company Collection, Retrieved from the Library of Congress.

Fahey Flynn, circa 1970s

Do you remember when Fahey Flynn

Stepped in to do the weather

Rarely, if at all,

Moving away from his anchor desk,

A full Irish face like Richard J. Daley,

A twinkle in his eye,

A perfect bow tie,

A spiffy dresser, that one,

And agile, to boot,

Flourishing in the substitute role,

Like the maestro who gets to fill in for the tuba player,

The principal who returns to the classroom for a day,

The CPD Commander who gets to put the bad guy in handcuffs.

It wasn’t just the bow tie,

But the presence,

Such that I was mesmerized

Whenever Fahey Flynn did the weather,

(or did I dream this?)

And I remember thinking,

Fahey Flynn can do anything!

And he could.

Jim Tilmon, circa 1980s

When my brother was in college in St. Paul,

Ready to fly home for the holidays,

And a snowstorm was in the forecast,

My mom called Jim Tilmon,

And he spoke to her,

Calmed the nerves of an anxious mother,

Steadied her with assurances that it was safe to fly.

Jim Tilmon,

Commanding and forthright,

Tall and elegant,

Was a commercial airline pilot.

Jim Tilmon knew the weather,

And he knew flight,

For he was an aviation expert,

And he was a gentleman,

Who would field a call from

Some suburban mother,

Easing her mind

Before her son boarded a plane;

And this phone call

Became a half dozen or so,

Spread out over the years,

And my mom would reach out to Jim Tilmon

in turbulent weather,

Before my brother boarded a plane,

And he always took her call,

Answered her questions,

Morphed her worry into a smooth landing;

But once my mom ran into

A different famous weatherman

In an elevator not far from Lake Michigan,

And she called out to him,

“You’re John Coleman!”

And he nodded,

Said he was;

And my mom recounted that story for years,

Still does,

But she says she really wished

She’d been able to meet Jim Tilmon,

The weatherman-pilot who would talk to her,

who never refused to take her call.

Mark Strehl, the present

It’s a dark sky over Cary,

And my husband keeps running outside

In the lightning storm

And the pouring rain

And the intermittent hail

To check on two baby branchers,

A Great Horned Owl duo,

Only weeks old,

Facing the fierce winds,

Clinging to the thin arms

Of an ancient silver maple;

Two wide-eyed soggy ghosts,

Petrified, I suppose,

By the lightning,

And the rain,

And the hail.

This storm does not pass

Over quickly.

It continues with

Gust and thunder.

In intervals, my husband appears,

Tells me they’re still there,

They’re not dead,

They haven’t been blown away

By the wind;

They’re frozen in the same spot

They were in before the storm came,

Holding fast to the boughs of the old tree.

This storm stretches on for hours,

With a ferocity of what would have

Once-upon-a-time-been-called “unusual”,

But is now expected.

And it’s Mark Strehl,

Built like a Bears lineman,

Who shoulders play-by-play

Over the field of the storm,

Warns of tornadoes,

Advises, instructs, navigates

Us through the long hours.

And there’s a comfort in knowing

That Mark Strehl is in the studio,

Telling us what he sees,

Telling us what he knows,

Telling us when the worst is over,

Carrying us through the storm

Until its finality,

Until he can sign off for the evening:

Mark Strehl,

Sincere and steady,

Smiling at the program’s end,

Capping off the broadcast

With a Garfield Goose reference

That only half his audience

Will understand.

Poet’s Postscript

Did Fahey Flynn ever substitute in for the weatherman? This is a memory I have from the single-digits of my childhood, some fifty years ago. I can find no verification of this on the Internet. It’s certainly possible that Mr. Flynn never stepped in and did the weather, and that my childhood recollection is incorrect. But if Fahey Flynn had done the weather, there is no doubt that he would’ve done it with gusto!

What about the anecdotes about Jim Tilmon and John Coleman? Are those true stories? Absolutely! My mom can vouch for it!

Did the owlets survive the storm? Yes! My husband and I catch a glimpse of them in our backyard now and then.

Who was Garfield Goose? C’mon? Are you really from Chicago?

Donna Kathryn Kelly